


Sniper x Reader

by SugarSyringe



Category: Team Fortress 2, team fortress - Fandom
Genre: Changing Perspective, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Getting to Know Each Other, Love/Hate, Multi, Murder Mystery, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23129806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarSyringe/pseuds/SugarSyringe
Summary: Late at night you witness a murder, in a panic you run as far and as fast as you can, but when you're taken by an ex-mercenary to be protected you're sucked into a world of hurt and unknowing. What's in store for you?Set after the events of Ring of fired but before Unhappy Returns
Relationships: Sniper (Team Fortress 2)/Reader, Sniper (Team Fortress 2)/You
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	1. Murder

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Ive been working on this for a time, not short or long. I dont know if I'll finish it but i dont want it collecting dust. The chapters are kind of short, so apologies for that.

Someone is getting murdered. I don't know who and I didn't stay long to find out. I should have called the cops, I panicked, I'll admit that. But something was off about the guy, not just that he was killing someone in cold blood, but I could swear his eyes were Yellow. Bright yellow. I'm not skeptical, though, because his eyes were glowing.

So he was killing someone, a girl I think, and I was so scared I turned and walked away. I didn't know if I could overpower him, and I didn't want to take the chance.

I think he saw me, I really hope he didn't. It feels like someone's watching me.

I begin to sprint, finding the shortest routes to get me home, hoping and, for the first time ever, praying, to get home safe. What if he heard me run?

I turn down an alley beside an old movie theatre, knowing it will take me home quicker, but I get the feeling that I'm being watched, like a sixth sense. I begin to slow, my senses are on high alert, I get my keys from my pocket and stick them between my fingers, each of my 3 keys poked out between my fingers, like claws.

When I hear the lid of a garbage can hit the ground I'm quick to turn, but it's only an alley cat. I let out a sigh of relief.

Then someone grabs me from behind, from the hands I can assume it's a man, he covers my mouth and holds my wrists together so my keys drop with my bag. I start struggling immediately, trying to scream and get free. But he turns me. My eyes well up with tears, I let out a choked sob. I'm shaking like a leaf, begging him not to kill me. There's a rifle slung around his shoulder and I know this must be the end for me.

But then I see his eyes and they're blue.They look kind and soft, but his expression is angry. 

He grips my wrist hard, then drags me along with him, he's muttering to himself as I sob behind him, trying to pull my hand away, desperately trying to pull his iron grip from my wrist.

I try to dig my heels into the pavement, then resort to dropping to my knees and having him drag me as I sob. Eventually he picks me up, frustrated.

We come to an RV, he opens the door and forces me in, then comes in and locks all the doors and windows.

"The bloody hell is wrong with you?" He shouts, he has a strong accent. He peeks through the curtains before he closes them and glares at me, but he doesn't say anything more. He waits for a moment until he unlocks and leaves through the door and moves to the cab, he starts his engine and pulls out of the parking spot he was in.

I'm sobbing and whimpering like a child as he continues to drive. I'm sitting in the middle of the floor as the RV moves through the city. As soon as we're far enough away he kills the engine and returns to the back, he stands tall and he marches over to me before he crouches down so he's level with my crying eyes.

"You're coming with me." He says. It's a statement, not a question. "Y' have to."

I shake my head pathetically.

"Well I ain't givin' you a choice!" He yells.

I begin crying louder, wailing.

"You're a bloody idiot, d'ya know that?" He speaks with a growl in his throat, as if trying to intimidate me. "That man could be coming after you right now." He shouts as he points to his camper door. His voice reminds me of someone who's scared. Scared and angry. "You don't have a choice, you're coming with me, if you like it or not.” He stands up and turns away. "You're better off sleeping in here. You can take the bed, I'll sleep in the cab." He walks out the door, letting it slam behind him.

I can't think of anything, I'm too scared to leave, so I cried myself to sleep, in the middle of the floor.

When I wake up I'm on something comfortable. People say you get disoriented when you wake up someplace unfamiliar, and I suppose that's true for me.

By the time I'm aware of where I am I realize something is cooking. I'm too scared to get up so I just listen. But not for long.

"You're awake." he says, again, a statement, not a question. "When you wanna talk I've got breakfast cookin'," he says. He's clearly trying to be polite,but at what cost?

I suck in a sharp breath. He doesn't say anything more though, so I wait until I've worked up the courage to get up. My legs feel weak as I amble over to the kitchenette.

I walk over to the RV's small table and sit down as he continues to cook, I pick at my nails nervously in my lap. My stomach is twisting and turning and I feel sick.

"What's your name?" he asks, casually, as if he didn't just kidnap me. (Does it count as a kidnapping if he was saving me from a murderer?)(Maybe he's the murderer and I've fallen for a trap.)

I don't know what to say, really. Should I give him my real name? Maybe he already knows it. I swallow nervously. 

"It's (y/n)." 

He hums in approval.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice cracks on the last syllable, while I'm not looking at him he slides some eggs and sausage on a plate for me, I stare at it. I don't like eggs. He sits opposite me and gives me a tired stare.

"Call me Mundy." He says. 

I don't trust him at all, so I don't say anything else. While he eats I continue to stare at my food

He sighs, puts his cutlery down and stares at me, I force myself to look up.

"If y'wanna live a little longer you better start talkin' more. Far's I know you're associated with my target." He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, he looks mad.

I whimper.

"Let's start like this. How old are you?" He picks up his fork and twirls it in the air.

My eyes begin to tear up but I push them back, "25," I reply, looking back to my lap.

"What were you doing out last night?"

"I was walking home from a friend's," I mutter.

"Why didn't you call the police?" He asks, each question is more intense than the last.

I don't know what to say, so I say what I figure is the best reason. "His eyes were glowing," I whisper.

There's a long stretch of silence between us. He takes a few bites of his breakfast before he speaks again.

"You can sit in the cab with me while I drive, I'll tell you what's happening." he scoops more food into his mouth. "Eat up," he says through bites of egg.

I think I hate him

This one's difficult. They don't listen worth shit, though I don't suppose I can blame 'em. Wonder if it would have been easier to do this job if they did die. I shake my head, that's no way to think. This could make my job so much easier, having them here.

"Seatbelt," I say, it's the third time since this morning. They ignored me for the third time. I slam on the brakes and they fly forward, instinctively bringing their hands to shield their face. I smirk. “Next time you’re too good for seatbelts let me know, I’ll bring the bloody camera.” 

They’re nose is bleeding and I laugh at them. They look a tad more mad than before. Their face is twisted into an intense glare, like knives being pushed against my skin. 

They let the blood drip onto the seat. I suppose I can't get mad about that, 'sides, these seats have seen much worse.

We've been driving for a good 5 hours by now, they look restless, and the RV's running on fumes, so I pulled over at the next self-service station. I may be trusting them a bit too much, but I give em some cash to grab a few snacks for the road. I'm hungry, anyways.

When I'm fueled up and ready to move I wait 5 minutes before I begin looking for them. They must have tried slipping off.

I look around the service station, then I spot em. They're trying, and failing, to scale a fence to get into the town behind the station. They're about halfway up when I run up and pull em down. Not that easy, dingo. 

They're yelling at me as I march them back to the RV and make them get in the passenger seat. I take to the driver's seat, get in, and lock the doors.

"Y'know, (y/n), this'll be over a lot easier an' quicker the sooner ya cooperate."

They don't reply, but pull their seatbelt over their chest.

It's getting dark so I turn down the next dirt road and find a place to spend the night. They don't look very interested, but I stop on a nice empty plot of dirt and park the RV. I sit for a moment and they glare at me with crossed arms. I wonder if they'll ever warm up to me, but I realize that ain't my biggest concern. My target could be halfway across the country by now.

I climb out of the driver's seat and into the back to grab my bow and arrows.

"I'm gonna find some dinner," I say, beginning to walk into the bush. "You find some firewood." 

It's quite easy for me to hunt, it all just depends on the season though. ‘Course we don't get snow in Australia, but you can see when the leaves and dirt on the ground have been disturbed, or when there's a well used trail. I find a rabbit trail real quick, it's only a matter of followin’ it to find dinner. 

Rabbits are easy to hunt, they’re quick buggers but if you’re quiet they won’t hear you. It's best, in my experience, to walk up to them at an angle, side stepping so they don’t feel threatened as you approach.

The rabbits are moulting, so as they move along their trail there's tufts of coarse fur. I find them soon enough, the leaves become more rustled, so that means I'm close, and that they can hear me. I slow my pace, moving only when I’m sure I won’t be heard.

There's a movement to my left, I draw my arrow and shoot.

When I come back with 2 fat rabbits there's a nice pile of firewood by the RV. They've set up some kindling and a firepit. They aren't as useless as I'd thought. 

I gut the rabbits before laying them on a large rock. I pile more wood onto the fire and tell (y/n) to grab me a bottle of water and the grill from the stove in the RV, they stand up from where they're kneeling and go to the RV.

When I've got a good fire going I place the grill they brought over it.

I start the fire and begin to skin the rabbits, I start by chopping off the feet. I notice that they grimace as I slowly cut the skin from the meat, cutting down their center. There's quite a bit of blood but I ain't fussing over it. I grab the feet out of the dirt and toss ‘em to the bushes. Then I wash the rabbits with the water before putting both rabbits on the fire whole.

"You'll get one t' yerself." 

"I'm not hungry," they say, glancing at the blood on my hands. I can't help but roll my eyes, city folk.

"You won't be much use to me if you ain't eatin'," I say as I flip the rabbits over so that they cook evenly.

"I don't want to be any use to you," they snap as they sit on the ground, scowling.

I’m tryin’ to keep my composure. "There's nothing wrong with 'ese." I gesture to the rabbits.

They don't say anything else, I assume the argument is over, that I've won, but then they look up to me and speak. “I feel bad for them,” they say.

I don't look up, but I grin, “the rabbits?” I ask.

They don't say anything but I assume they’re nodding.

“I like meat, but I don't like hunting for meat,” they say, barely audible. “I don't like knowing that the food was alive before I eat it. It creeps me out.”

I hum. “There's probably some leftovers in my fridge, or cans in m' cupboard, if you want to go look.”

They stand up and leave.

I expect them to cook something in the RV, I've got propane so they could, though I might be annoyed with ‘em for wasting it, but they come back with a small cooking pot and canned spaghetti. (I hate the stuff so I'm not bothered by it). They place the pot on the grill next to the rabbit, which they won’t even look at. They’ve got a knife with them, I don't have a can opener, and they pry the tin open and pour its contents into the pot, scraping any stragglers out with the knife.

“You like that crap?” I ask

They shrug. They’re crouching by the fire, feet planted flat on the ground with their knees flat to their chest, stirring with the knife occasionally.

Dinner is good, I manage to get them to eat a bit of rabbit, they like it but they still look squeamish, though I can't blame them I guess. They keep to their canned spaghetti.

When we go to bed for the night I let them take the bed again. My back is gonna kill me over the next few days. I make sure they're comfortable before I take a blanket and pillow with me into the cab. 

I'm ready to sleep, need the rest before I get my target, afterall. Who knows how long I'll be nestin' while I wait? I fall asleep quick tonight, not the type who'll stay up long if I've had a busy day. This evening, I'm out like a light. 

When I wake up it's about 2 in the morning. The camper is strangely quiet. I get up to check on (y/n), not trusting them to still be in the camper after what happened at the service station, even after our lackluster bonding during dinner.

Sure enough the camper's empty. I can't help but scowl. stepping down and slamming the door. I think twice and I open the door again and turn on the light. My hunting knife is gone. Among a myriad of other messes that I don't pay attention to.

"O' course they took my bloody knife!" I kick the side of the door frame. I'm quick to jump down, and start looking. I dont have my vest but I don't think I have time to grab it.

It's easy. If hunting rabbits is easy this is a walk in the bloody park. They rustle up the dirt and leaves like a… Well like someone who's running in the dark.

I hear them too, they're breathing hard.

Then I hear the other person. There are two people here; them, and someone else.

I start to sprint.

When I look back on my memories I realize that the Rv was in complete disarray, more than just a little mess, I think there were things thrown around, plates smashed and signs of struggle. Must have been too tired to notice.

I begin to run faster. I ain’t losing this lead. (y/n) is the best lead for a target I've had in years, they may even be the first. I don't stop running.

I follow the trail as quickly as I can, pushing branches and leaves out of my face. They’re close. I’m close. Why didn’t I bring something to fight? Then I see them, they’re against a tree with the knife pointed to a man. Completely bailed up. The man is white, but not just his skin. His hair, his suit, except his eyes, they’re a toxic yellow

I’m quick to jump at him, but as soon as I think I've got him in my hands he’s gone, like an apparition.

I look to (y/n), I’m not so much worried about their wellbeing, but more that they’ll still be able to identify the man. 

“Was that ‘im?” I ask breathless.

They nod, tears streaming down their face and they collapse to the ground, dropping the knife when their hands go limp.

I regain my composure and walk over, offerin’ my hand so they can get up. They take it, though reluctantly.

We walk back to the RV, they cling to me as they cry and sniffle, like an ankle biter thats just been yelled at.

When we get back I double check that the fire has been put out, kicking dirt over it to smother it, just in case, and walk them back to the RV.

I open the door for them, it creaks. They don't step up, though.

"What?" I ask. I'm annoyed, and tired.

"I don't want to sleep alone," they say. They're hugging themself, staring inside the camper. It was messy a moment ago, right? 

It was, and now it's clean as it was when we went to bed. I almost feel relieved, if it wasn't for the feeling of dread creeping over me. 

"I can come and sleep in 'ere," I say, "I'll set up another bed."

The other bed is made out of the dinner table. The table-top comes off and slides into a groove, then you cover it with the cushions and sleep on it. It's hard, I might even prefer the cab to it. 

They look at me and shrug.

"I can take the other bed, it's your RV," they replied. 

"I'd feel shit."

Then they glare at me, like it was my fault they were chased by a bloody ghost, but their expression softens. They open their mouth to say something, but then they close it again. I think I know what they were going to say. 

"W… we can share the bed, it's big enough," they mumble.

"I'll grab th' other blanket, then." I let them in and grab the blanket and pillow from the cab, I walk into the back and lock the door.

They're already asleep by the time I get in. They don't take up much room, they're sleeping in the corner, curled up like a cat, snoring softly.

I climb in next to them, but turn my back to them and fall asleep.

I wonder if they hate me.


	2. On The Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters were much shorter. Ive been combining chapters ive written which is why they change perspective in the middle. Not sure if this is better or worse...?

I woke up tucked into a corner, Mundy isn’t here, but the RV is moving so I figure I should get up. 

There's leftover eggs in his fridge, which I don't want. I’m half tempted to go back to sleep, but I don't think I should. It’s not that I don't feel safe here, well maybe I don't, I'm not sure, but I don't trust him. 

That’s when I see the books. They’re lined against the window behind the table, on a shelf. They’re secured with a bungee cord.

I move slowly, so I don't distured the RV, so he doesnt pull over and talk to me. I sit at the table and look at the books. They’re books that look like they wouldn’t come off the library shelf for months, maybe years. Books older women like to read.

I take a closer look, I see Wuthering Heights, stuff like The Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies.

I can't help but laugh though, there’s a lot of romance novels.

I choose one at random and begin to read it.

By the time the RV stops it's almost noon and I’m a third of the way through the book. Mundy knocks on the door before he comes in, he steps up and stares at me and the book I have in my hand. He clears his throat.

“D’ya want anythin’ to eat?” he asks, he won't make eye contact with me, but he has sunglasses on so maybe I just can't see it.

I stand up and nod, “hunting again?” I ask. I don't like that I can so easily joke with him. I feel like a wall is crumbling, I'm not ready for it.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, there’s a diner right here, I’ll buy.”

“You wouldn't have a choice.” I say bitterly. I lost my wallet when he grabbed me, I hope someone found it, I hope they're looking. (They probably just took my money and gave it to the local police.)

He laughs. "C'mon then."

"I'd never take you for a diner man," I say, I put the book back on the shelf, I dog-ear the page, since it's already been dog-eared, anyways.

He shrugs, leans against the door frame. "I want corned beef hash," is all he says. "Haven't had any in weeks, guess seeing you eat that canned crap made me want it." he smiles. "'sides this place makes burgers big as your fist," he says. I don't respond. "Make a fist."

I do

"Bigger than yer fist." He jokes. When did we become so friendly? It's too fast, too soon. He kidnapped me for christ's sake. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome.

We go outside and I see a classic diner, a roadside diner, probably for truckers and travellers.

We go in, I consider telling the waitress I've been kidnapped, but in this situation I feel like she wouldn't believe me. We sit at a booth, facing each other. The waitress smiles at us as she hands us each a menu. I thank her, Mundy doesn't even look up, but he asks for the strongest coffee they have. 

The waitress leaves and comes back with a pot of coffee, she places creamer and sugar on the table on a small saucer, but he ignores it. She leaves the pot on the table. He drinks coffee black. I cringe.

The waitress leaves and he sighs. "Thought I said strong," he says, topping himself up.

"She's just doing her job, she can't cater to every hardass that comes in and demands the best pot of coffee in the damn country." I roll my eyes for the thousandth time, I can tell he doesn't approve of my words or my tone. 

He offers me a cup and I take it. It's like tar, I can barely swallow the small mouthful. How can he drink it? I top it with creamer and sugar.

He cringes and I can't help but laugh.

"So," I start, "Why don't you tell me about yourself? I feel like you know so much about me but I barely know your name," I say.

He raises a brow, polishing the rest of his coffee and refilling his cup.

"Alright, I'll bite." He nods his head slowly, "What do you want to know?"

I think.

"Who are you?"

He doesn't answer right away, he's thinking. I wonder if he's thinking of a good lie, or if he's thinking the best way to tell the truth. I decide he's going to be honest, he could have thought of a convincing lie on the spot.

"My name is Mick." He says. "Though my teammates used to call me Mundy." 

The waitress comes back, Mick orders his cornbread hash, I order fluffy looking pancakes, with butter and hot syrup.

"Teammates?" I probe.

He hums. "I was a mercenary for Mann Co., in America. Bloody good job. I was called The Sniper, like th' name suggests I was a precision shooter."

I stare. 

He hums again. "Bloody good job!" he repeats as he hits the table with the palm of his hand "But I was fired a couple months ago, cause this guy, Grey Mann, took over the company, took it right from under Saxton Hale's feet." He grumbles.

The waitress comes back with our food, the hash looks good. Has eggs with it. He scoops some into his mouth, angry.

"I liked the job so much, so I still do it. I'm an assassin. Well I've always been one," he says through bites of food "But I used to trap back with me mum and dad before I was hired."

I'm kind of shocked. What do I say to that?

"I worked a desk job after studying in college." I say, almost pathetically.

He nods.

We finish our brunch. He finishes the pot of coffee and the waitress comes back with our bill.

He opens it, I have a feeling it's kind of expensive, but all he does is reach into his vest pocket and pulls out a wad of bills, it must be a thousand or more. He places the whole wad on the bill.

He looks and me and nods to the door.

"Let's rock and roll." he says.

I don't know what to say, so I look to him, then to the wad of bills.

I figure out what to say and I say it out loud.

"What the fuck?"

"Look, I'll give ya the drum of it," he tells me a bit more during the drive. Explains that he was paid millions of dollars for his work. He likes tipping people a lot, knows they live off tips.

I don't know what to say. Well, first.

"Why do you live in this RV?" 

He gives me a soft glare, I can see his eyes at this angle.

"I've had this since I started workin' fer Mann Co., it was a gift from m' parents."

I nod. "Okay.'

"Also, there's no point livin' in a big house. If I can live comfortably in my RV then I'll do it."

"Were you close with your teammates?"

he nods again. "Yes, I was, but I lost contact with 'em all," he says, almost sad. "I'm paying you for helpin' me, by the way. Thought it'd be a good-a time as ever to tell you now."

I stare at him. "Really?

He sighs. "I've seen the guy, you know. If y' want I can give you your money now, send you on yer way home on a greyhound," He says.

I shake my head, "I may be too attached to you," I joke, "I think I'll help." why do I want to stay?

He glances to me, eyebrow cocked. "Alright."

I hum. "Okay. Anything else I should know about you?

He thinks again. "I like aliens, cryptids. Well I believe in 'em, y'know?" 

I smile. "Me too." 

We don't speak for a while.

I look at him, every once in a while, I've never noticed this about anyone before, but he looks distracted while he drives. Like he's thinking.

"I miss them, sometimes," he says. "I've never missed anyone like that before, besides my parents."

I look to him but I don't say anything.

"I can tell you about them if you'd like, my teammates."

I nod.

"How many of them did you work with?" I ask

"eight."

I watch the road, he swerves sometimes but he always corrects himself, it's smooth, he's an experienced driver. I don't drive very often, but I'm shit at it.

"Tell me about them."

He thinks for a moment.

"Demoman, Tavish if you will," he says, "Damn good demolition man and a damn good drinking buddy."

I laugh. "Okay, who else?"

He thinks again, "Ludwig was the medic, don't think he had a doctorate but he did a fine job, though I'm sure he had a lot o' blood lust," He says, "with Ludwig comes Mikal, our heavy weapons expert. We just called him Heavy."

I nodded, urging him to go on. This is more interesting than I thought.

"Then there's the Spy, bloody snake, and his bastard son Scout. Don't know Spy's name, but Scout's name is Jeremy. They're a lot more alike than they'd admit.

"Jane Doe, Soldier, was a mad army man, but I don't really think he was in the army, to tell you the truth." He winks at me playfully and I laugh again.

"Dell Conagher was our Engineer, he's a smart devil I'll tell you that, could make and fix anythin' he set his mind to." He takes an exit to get to a different highway. "Then there's the Pyro, I don't know their name, either. Don't think I recall even seeing their face. Truth is I don't even know whether they were a man or a woman but they were bloody deadly. Mad, if y' ask me."

His eyes cloud over, he's thinking again, I've come to recognize the face he makes.

"I miss 'em, a lot."

"That's all of them?" I ask

He sighs.

"There's two more," he starts, "Miss. Pauling, she's a great girl. Diplomatic, smart, efficient, bloody patient when it comes to Scout." He looks up to the sky. "It's getting' dark," He says.

"Who's the other?" I urge, I'm on the edge of my seat. Who were all these people? I want to meet all of them, I want to know them all.

He thinks, long and hard, he turns down a grid road and parks on the shoulder.

"Well?"

He shakes his head. "Don't wanna talk about 'er, she was ruthless. Woman not to be messed with. Evil, I think."

That's more information than I thought he'd give, but I still don't know her name.

If she's that bad, do I want to know her?

We're parked, but he isn't getting out. I wait. He's thinking again. He's more of a thinker than a talker, maybe he realizes I can't read his mind because he starts to speak again.

"I don't know if I can sleep tonight," he says. "But you can. Think I'll keep driving."

I shake my head.

"I'll keep you company," I say.

I haven't had a smoke in almost a week. Usually I ain't too fussed over them but I think I'm stressed. When I start feeling withdrawn I even crave one of Spy's bloody cigs. Flavoured garbage's what they are, really. I don't have any smokes with me, besides some stray joints. 

(y/n) is sleeping. Curled up without their seatbelt on. I put my vest on them so they wouldn't get cold, case I wanted to open a window or turn down the heater.They slept for most of the night, or at least they've been sleeping since 3 this morning.

They shift and stir sometimes, but they don't wake up. I can't help staring longer than I need to. It's good the roads aren't busy.

There's a town coming up in about 7 clicks so I'll buy some smokes at the next servo.

Billboards are becoming frequent, advertising restaurants and fast-food chains. I wonder if (y/n) is hungry. I glance to the clock on the dash, it's 6 am so I don't know if I should wake them.

I'm in the town now, on the main drag. I put on my turn signal and pull into the cheapest service station. I top up the tank and leave my new accomplice in the cab while I head in to buy some smokes and food.

I must be the first customer this morning, there's a tired teenager behind the desk, tapping her nails on the counter, her eyes follow me in boredom. I might as well be at an exhibit at the zoo, like this is the most exciting thing she's seen all morning.

Her gaze moves down to my hip, where my knife is strapped and her eyes get as wide as saucers. Bugger. Nothing can be done, she might call the cops. I go about buying some chocolate, figuring (y/n) might want it, I'm unsure if I should, but I also buy a 6-pack for later.

She rings me up hurriedly, but before she can tell me my total I point to the smokes behind the counter. 

"Winfield." I say tiredly. My throat feels hoarse. She rings that up. "and 6 litres o' petrol at the pump."

"that'll be $10.36, sir," she says.

I give her a hundred, tell her to keep the change.

People say money doesn't bring you happiness but it does if you don't have much of it. I've no use for so much money, i got a savings for necessities, but I don't need all this extra. Plus, it feels good to give it to people who might need it. Truth is I don't want the money, I don't deserve it. It's also quite good for the economy.

I leave the store without a bag, when I get to the RV (y/n) is awake, they're staring at me through the window with unfocused eyes, forehead resting on the glass. They're shoes are on my dash. I tap the window and gesture to they're feet, which they drop down.

I get into the driver's side and put the things down, I put the 6-pack by their feet, I throw the bar into their lap.

"Thanks," they say. 

I nod. I start the RV.

"Wait."

I wait and turn to look at them.

"how long have I been with you?" they ask. 

I don't say anything, thinking. "About 2 days."

"Is there a payphone in there?" they ask. "I just… Can I call my parents?"

A sigh comes out of my mouth, it sounds angry, but of course it isn't, maybe just impatient. They shrink back and look away. "nevermind, then.."

I feel guilty so I pull some change out of my pocket and give it to them. "Let's go find you a payphone." I wonder if they'll reveal that I took them, my stomach drops.

They perk up and grin at me.

I pull the RV to a different parking spot so I don't block the pump, then we both get out. The payphone is outside, on the side of the building. We go up and they let the coins drop in. They clink and clunk, then they dial a number. It's longer than the authorities, I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders.

I lean against the top of the payphone. Just seeing it reminds me of my parents. Calling up my dad and mum only to argue with them. I feel guilty, again.

Both my parents died while I was working with Mann Co. O' course the administrator wouldn't allow me to go to either of the funerals. I missed the buryin' of my own parents. I got depressed after that, could barely work, slept in. I moved back here the minute I was given the pink slip. Saw it coming, so I bought the plane tickets early.

They were buried right next to each other, so I sat between them and cried for the first time since they died. I'd want to be buried between them, if I could.

In some ways, I loathe working for Mann Co. I lost touch with my parents. Never in all my years working there did I ever end a phone call with 'I love you', or 'I miss you'. I was an idiot, let my job get in the way of my family.

"Mum?"

I'm out of my trance. I look up, they're smiling from ear to ear.

"Ma? Hey it's (y/n). I- No, I'm fine mum." They laugh. "Mum I'm okay, don't call anyone."

They listen for a minute, I can hear an exasperated woman on the other end crying an' shouting.

"Mum don't call in a missing person or anything," they start, "I decided to go on a trip. Dunno when I'll be back," they laugh again, "Think of it as a spirit journey or something. Wait, no that's racist shit- I'm okay. I'm with a friend."

I recoil. Friend's a weird thing to call someone who's essentially taken you hostage.

"Y' wanna talk to him? Uh, okay."

They wave the phone in my face and I grimace, taking it. Shit.

"G'day," I mumble. "M' name's Mick, a good friend of (y/n). I'll be sure they ain't getting into anything' dangerous," I feel like throwing up. What if they die in my care? I'm a shit person. I realize I'm letting myself spiral.

The woman is going on and on about how worried she's been and how there was a body discovered where (y/n) was last seen. I nod and let her go on and on and on and mutter my condolences and such. Finally she thanks me and I hand the phone back to (y/n), who's been shadowing me. It makes me feel sick, knowing that (y/n) has someone who cares for them so much, and I've taken them away.

"I'm okay, mum, don't worry. I'll be back soon."

I excuse myself to go into the RV. 

I move to the bathroom and immediately throw up. It's mostly stomach acid, seeing I haven't eaten anything today. 

Then I begin to think.

It's been 2 months since I was fired from Mann Co., I came back to my childhood home, trying to find a purpose. I think I found it, way back then.

I found that my parents weren't really my parents, I don't know who my real parents are, but I've been trying to track them down since then. I wonder if my parents, my adoptive parents, ever tried to tell me. 

Was it important? I tried to figure out if I came from an orphanage, but there's no files on me anywhere, I've checked. Hell, I don't think the administrator had to do much to cover up my existing. So I'm stuck in this rather fucked up mystery, pardon my french.

Now I have to kill a ghost, it's all… Shit. Maybe it's a punishment from a Higher power, not that I really believe in a god or anything, my parents did.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, I spit any remaining bile into the toilet. On my way out of the RV I toss back a cup of water and rinse my mouth.

When I open the door (y/n) is outside, like they were about to come in.

"You okay?" they ask. I only nod to them, not interested in small talk. 

They don't move, don't talk. I'm waiting for them to reveal something important, they've called the authorities, they're related to the administrator or something crazy like that.

"I'm going to kill him."

That wasn't something that crossed my mind. It would have been more believable that they were related to the administrator. 

"Wiv what? Your charmin' good looks?" I ask as I push past them.

"With a gun. With my hands,” they say, they take a second to choose their next words. “With your help. I don't want this freaky ghost to kill anyone else, okay? I want to kill him." They move their hands in a way that I think is supposed to be spooky, "Exorcise him." 

I hum, I want to say it's in disapproval, but I think it's in respect. I stand in front of them, while they stand on the steps of the RV.

"Do you really want to?" I ask, "Are you okay with killing a person?" I'm looking up at them, and they are looking down at me, right now it seems they have the higher ground, but they step down so they're looking up at me now.

"With all due respect, Mundy, he is not a person."

They do have the higher ground, even looking up at me. 

I bite my bottom lip, sighing. "He's your kill, then."

They smile, I get the feeling they didn't expect me to agree, but I agreed, nonetheless. 

I move to the cab, I get into the driver's side and open my pack of cigarettes. (y/n) Comes soon after. I light my cigarette and roll down a window. We sit in silence.

"You're sure?" I ask.

They glance at me. "Of course I'm sure, I think." They look away as I take a pull of the cigarette.

"Do ya smoke?" I ask, offering it to them

They shake their head. "Not really," They say, pushing my hand back.

"Smart…" I start the RV and pull back onto the main road. I let the cigarette sit in my mouth, burning away until I take several long drags and snuff it out in my ashtray. 

After a good 5 minutes of driving I finally bring myself to ask what's on my mind. "Why d'ya want to kill him?"

The stare at their hand in their lap, picking at their nails before they answer. "Not so sound like a twat, but I think this could be the most exciting thing to ever happen to me." They look up at me and grin. "Is it weird to say I want to be like you?"

My face warms a bit. "It must be your callin'." 

We just need to find him


	3. Gun Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter that ive written! Unsure if i'll add more but let me know if you'd like to see it :)

I haven't had a smoke in almost a week. Usually I ain't too fussed over them but I think I'm stressed. When I start feeling withdrawn I even crave one of Spy's bloody cigs. Flavoured garbage's what they are, really. I don't have any smokes with me, besides some stray joints. 

(y/n) is sleeping. Curled up without their seatbelt on. I put my vest on them so they wouldn't get cold, case I wanted to open a window or turn down the heater.They slept for most of the night, or at least they've been sleeping since 3 this morning.

They shift and stir sometimes, but they don't wake up. I can't help staring longer than I need to. It's good the roads aren't busy.

There's a town coming up in about 7 clicks so I'll buy some smokes at the next servo.

Billboards are becoming frequent, advertising restaurants and fast-food chains. I wonder if (y/n) is hungry. I glance to the clock on the dash, it's 6 am so I don't know if I should wake them.

I'm in the town now, on the main drag. I put on my turn signal and pull into the cheapest service station. I top up the tank and leave my new accomplice in the cab while I head in to buy some smokes and food.

I must be the first customer this morning, there's a tired teenager behind the desk, tapping her nails on the counter, her eyes follow me in boredom. I might as well be at an exhibit at the zoo, like this is the most exciting thing she's seen all morning.

Her gaze moves down to my hip, where my knife is strapped and her eyes get as wide as saucers. Bugger. Nothing can be done, she might call the cops. I go about buying some chocolate, figuring (y/n) might want it, I'm unsure if I should, but I also buy a 6-pack for later.

She rings me up hurriedly, but before she can tell me my total I point to the smokes behind the counter. 

"Winfield." I say tiredly. My throat feels hoarse. She rings that up. "and 6 litres o' petrol at the pump."

"that'll be $10.36, sir," she says.

I give her a hundred, tell her to keep the change.

People say money doesn't bring you happiness but it does if you don't have much of it. I've no use for so much money, i got a savings for necessities, but I don't need all this extra. Plus, it feels good to give it to people who might need it. Truth is I don't want the money, I don't deserve it. It's also quite good for the economy.

I leave the store without a bag, when I get to the RV (y/n) is awake, they're staring at me through the window with unfocused eyes, forehead resting on the glass. They're shoes are on my dash. I tap the window and gesture to they're feet, which they drop down.

I get into the driver's side and put the things down, I put the 6-pack by their feet, I throw the bar into their lap.

"Thanks," they say. 

I nod. I start the RV.

"Wait."

I wait and turn to look at them.

"how long have I been with you?" they ask. 

I don't say anything, thinking. "About 2 days."

"Is there a payphone in there?" they ask. "I just… Can I call my parents?"

A sigh comes out of my mouth, it sounds angry, but of course it isn't, maybe just impatient. They shrink back and look away. "nevermind, then.."

I feel guilty so I pull some change out of my pocket and give it to them. "Let's go find you a payphone." I wonder if they'll reveal that I took them, my stomach drops.

They perk up and grin at me.

I pull the RV to a different parking spot so I don't block the pump, then we both get out. The payphone is outside, on the side of the building. We go up and they let the coins drop in. They clink and clunk, then they dial a number. It's longer than the authorities, I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders.

I lean against the top of the payphone. Just seeing it reminds me of my parents. Calling up my dad and mum only to argue with them. I feel guilty, again.

Both my parents died while I was working with Mann Co. O' course the administrator wouldn't allow me to go to either of the funerals. I missed the buryin' of my own parents. I got depressed after that, could barely work, slept in. I moved back here the minute I was given the pink slip. Saw it coming, so I bought the plane tickets early.

They were buried right next to each other, so I sat between them and cried for the first time since they died. I'd want to be buried between them, if I could.

In some ways, I loathe working for Mann Co. I lost touch with my parents. Never in all my years working there did I ever end a phone call with 'I love you', or 'I miss you'. I was an idiot, let my job get in the way of my family.

"Mum?"

I'm out of my trance. I look up, they're smiling from ear to ear.

"Ma? Hey it's (y/n). I- No, I'm fine mum." They laugh. "Mum I'm okay, don't call anyone."

They listen for a minute, I can hear an exasperated woman on the other end crying an' shouting.

"Mum don't call in a missing person or anything," they start, "I decided to go on a trip. Dunno when I'll be back," they laugh again, "Think of it as a spirit journey or something. Wait, no that's racist shit- I'm okay. I'm with a friend."

I recoil. Friend's a weird thing to call someone who's essentially taken you hostage.

"Y' wanna talk to him? Uh, okay."

They wave the phone in my face and I grimace, taking it. Shit.

"G'day," I mumble. "M' name's Mick, a good friend of (y/n). I'll be sure they ain't getting into anything' dangerous," I feel like throwing up. What if they die in my care? I'm a shit person. I realize I'm letting myself spiral.

The woman is going on and on about how worried she's been and how there was a body discovered where (y/n) was last seen. I nod and let her go on and on and on and mutter my condolences and such. Finally she thanks me and I hand the phone back to (y/n), who's been shadowing me. It makes me feel sick, knowing that (y/n) has someone who cares for them so much, and I've taken them away.

"I'm okay, mum, don't worry. I'll be back soon."

I excuse myself to go into the RV. 

I move to the bathroom and immediately throw up. It's mostly stomach acid, seeing I haven't eaten anything today. 

Then I begin to think.

It's been 2 months since I was fired from Mann Co., I came back to my childhood home, trying to find a purpose. I think I found it, way back then.

I found that my parents weren't really my parents, I don't know who my real parents are, but I've been trying to track them down since then. I wonder if my parents, my adoptive parents, ever tried to tell me. 

Was it important? I tried to figure out if I came from an orphanage, but there's no files on me anywhere, I've checked. Hell, I don't think the administrator had to do much to cover up my existing. So I'm stuck in this rather fucked up mystery, pardon my french.

Now I have to kill a ghost, it's all… Shit. Maybe it's a punishment from a Higher power, not that I really believe in a god or anything, my parents did.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, I spit any remaining bile into the toilet. On my way out of the RV I toss back a cup of water and rinse my mouth.

When I open the door (y/n) is outside, like they were about to come in.

"You okay?" they ask. I only nod to them, not interested in small talk. 

They don't move, don't talk. I'm waiting for them to reveal something important, they've called the authorities, they're related to the administrator or something crazy like that.

"I'm going to kill him."

That wasn't something that crossed my mind. It would have been more believable that they were related to the administrator. 

"Wiv what? Your charmin' good looks?" I ask as I push past them.

"With a gun. With my hands,” they say, they take a second to choose their next words. “With your help. I don't want this freaky ghost to kill anyone else, okay? I want to kill him." They move their hands in a way that I think is supposed to be spooky, "Exorcise him." 

I hum, I want to say it's in disapproval, but I think it's in respect. I stand in front of them, while they stand on the steps of the RV.

"Do you really want to?" I ask, "Are you okay with killing a person?" I'm looking up at them, and they are looking down at me, right now it seems they have the higher ground, but they step down so they're looking up at me now.

"With all due respect, Mundy, he is not a person."

They do have the higher ground, even looking up at me. 

I bite my bottom lip, sighing. "He's your kill, then."

They smile, I get the feeling they didn't expect me to agree, but I agreed, nonetheless. 

I move to the cab, I get into the driver's side and open my pack of cigarettes. (y/n) Comes soon after. I light my cigarette and roll down a window. We sit in silence.

"You're sure?" I ask.

They glance at me. "Of course I'm sure, I think." They look away as I take a pull of the cigarette.

"Do ya smoke?" I ask, offering it to them

They shake their head. "Not really," They say, pushing my hand back.

"Smart…" I start the RV and pull back onto the main road. I let the cigarette sit in my mouth, burning away until I take several long drags and snuff it out in my ashtray. 

After a good 5 minutes of driving I finally bring myself to ask what's on my mind. "Why d'ya want to kill him?"

The stare at their hand in their lap, picking at their nails before they answer. "Not so sound like a twat, but I think this could be the most exciting thing to ever happen to me." They look up at me and grin. "Is it weird to say I want to be like you?"

My face warms a bit. "It must be your callin'." 

We just need to find him

It's not that I'm confident that I can kill a man, morally speaking, but this thing isn't a man, is it? It's not from this physical realm. I'm a bit of a skeptic, so I don't exactly believe in ghosts, but if this isn't the perfect proof I don't know what is. Unless it's some high-tech projection this thing is real. A poltergeist?

It's been about and hour since I told Mundy I was going to kill this guy and he hasn't spoken to me since.

We're miles from the last and the next town when he pulls into a grid road. I'm not scared, not like I would have been when I first met him. I don't think he has the courage to kill me now that we've gotten to know each other.

"Do y' even know how to shoot a gun?" He asks abruptly.

I turn to him, an eyebrow cocked. "Yes, I've shot a .22 rifle with my dad," I explain

He scoffs, almost laughs. "That's not exactly what I mean," He says, rolling his eyes, "Snipin' ain't the same as shootin' a .22 rifle with yer dad." He glances to me and smirks.

"Do I have to do long range?" I ask.

"Long range is good," he says, "Means you can get outta there fast without gettin' caught."

I nod, trying to seem interested. 

Mundy turns off of the dirt road and starts to drive the RV through a field, one with lots of hills and uneven terrain. We're obviously on someone else's land.

"W-what are you doing?" I stammer, steadying myself on the dashboard.

He grins, speeding up just enough to make me nervous. "Seatbelt, darlin'." He smiles.

I quickly buckle up.

We end up in front of a high mound of dirt, Mundy's set up a last minute shooting range at the base of it. 

There's at least 20 feet between us and the targets he's set up, five empty beer cans. He didn't want to use glass bottles, in case an animal was cut on them. They're set up at various heights, using buckets and stones of various sizes, one of the cans is piked on a stick.

Finally, he's set a long stick in front of us.

"Don't pass the line there," he explains, "Unless all the guns are unloaded and down."

He takes gun safety very seriously, apparently.

Hes taken several guns out of his RV, pistols, rifles, a shotgun, and a crossbow, and lays them on the ground gently, all of them in a case.

"Right, then, let's get started."

He hands me a pistol. I don't know what kind and he doesn't elaborate. 

He shows me how to stand when shooting a pistol, how to steady my shoulders and make sure my elbows don't buckle when I shoot.

I know all of this, but he looks a little excited to be teaching someone, he's not jumping up and down, but grinning a bit.

"A'right, now aim down the barrel and shoot a can."

I square my shoulders and aim. I'm quick to pull the trigger, three times my finger pulses on the trigger and 3 times I hit one target.

I look to Mundy, expecting him to be impressed but he looks mad

"You're wasting bullets," he explains, he starts to look a little pleased though. He's not mad, I think he's just poking fun, "If you can hit them with one bullet don't fire anymore rounds y' trigger happy dinlo." He almost laughs. "If you aren't confident you can kill them in one shot then you ain't a good assassin." He bumps my shoulder with his arm. "Try again."

I do, I hit each can with one bullet, I shoot through the stick that holds up the one can.

"Let's up the ante, eh?" He pulls a small coin from his pocket and we walk to the end of our range. Mundy places it standing up, leaning against a can.

"Let's see ya hit that."

He's more serious. I guess playtime is over.

He gives me a heavier pistol, I take what I learned from the first round and apply it.

1 bullet.

Steady arms

Hold your breath when you want to shoot, but not too long.

Never put your finger on the trigger unless you're sure you have the shot.

I pull the trigger, I hit the can, not the coin.

I put the gun down and we set the range back up with a new coin. We couldn't find the original.

It goes like that for an hour, each time I miss. Each time I put more focus into my shot, more vigor into the pulling of the trigger until I'm so mad I think I might cry. We've been switching guns after I use them a couple times.

"Don't let ya emotions take over, a professional wouldn't cry if he missed his target." He pauses for effect. "A professional wouldn't miss his target."

I glare at him, obviously pissed. He sees this and I think he's tired.

I try again. I miss.

My emotions well up, I try to swallow back my tears and I manage to, but I let out a frustrated scream.

"Bugger-" He takes the gun from my hands, pats my shoulder. "Let's eat something," He says.

I look to my feet, looking at all the discarded shells. I kick the ground in frustration, several of the shells fly up and into the bush.

Mundy glares at me. "We're picking those up, ya bloody loon."

He's really tired, I can tell. He goes into the RV while I stand outside, fuming. When he comes back he has two small bags of trialmix, the kind with small chocolate candies in it.

"'ere." He tosses me a bag and I catch it. We both sit on the ground, it's dry, thankfully. We eat for a good 10 minutes without talking.

I'm chewing the nuts and raisins angrily, my teeth grind them to a paste. I need to say something before I grind my teeth away.

"I'm sorry," I start, "I thought I'd be better at this." I pull my knees to my chest. "Maybe this isn't my calling." I feel like an idiot. That was a dumb thing to say.

Mundy looks at me and I look at him. This is the first time I've noticed that he has an underbite, I almost smile.

He softens a bit.

"The hell are you talking about?" He asks. "You're a bloody good shot, you've hit all the cans, with one shot each, I'll add," he says with a smile, "mostly."

I blow some air through my nose and hum my dissapointment.

"An' so what if ye can't hit a bloody coin, it's a hard shot. It's be easier with a real sniper." He stands, brushes any dirt off himself and goes into his RV. When he comes out he has a sniper rifle, a long barrel and a precision scope.

"This here's my personal sniper. It's a shit gun, really."

I can't help myself and laugh.

"Mann Co. doesn't make good guns, but I'm attached to it. Y'see, the gun doesn't make the sniper, y'know what I'm sayin'?" I've just noticed how heavy his accent gets, but it's not exactly Australian, but a close contender. He walks to me and offers me a hand.

I'm still laughing, but I nod, grabbing his hand and letting him pull me to my feet

"Yeah, I got it." 

Mundy smiles. "Let's try this again with a real sniper, then."

He hands me a higher grade sniper than his own.

"C'mon," he says, he leads me behind the van to a ladder.

Well, half a ladder.

"Sorry, it's an old van." He smiles and puts his hands together, fingers locking with both palms up. "Step up, I'll boost ya."

Using his shoulder to steady myself I put my right foot in his palms and get ready to hop up. He pushes me up in time with my jump. It's a clean dance and I manage to get on top of the van.

He throws the rifle up, (safety on, unloaded). I wait as he makes sure the coin is in place, then he comes back.

I expect him to ask for my help to get up. I'm prepared to offer my hand but he climbs his way up easily.

When he's up he smiles at me. I think I'm actually getting a case of Stockholm syndrome because my heart flutters at the sight. The Sun is behind his head, a ring of light surrounds him.

"Let's get this done," he says, walking past me, clapping my shoulder as he situates himself at the front of the van.

I join him, crouching next to him.

"The gun'll kick ya." He places the rifle in my arms. I press it against my shoulder and aim with the scope.

"Good job. Now focus on yer target," 

I aim, my hand is steady, I wait until I'm certain I'll hit the coin, take a breath in and slowly let it out. I pull the trigger.

The coin and can go flying, I'm sure I hit it this time.

I let out a shout of celebration.

"Let's check 'er out," Mundy says.

I'm excited, quick to jump down without his help. I land a little awkwardly, stumbling a bit and laughing with genuine enthusiasm as I fall onto my side.

"Woah there- hold on." Mundy joins me soon enough, hopping down with more grace than me. Again, he offers me his hand, and, again, I take it.

We approach the coin, finding it and a few of the ones we lost in the grass. It has a clean hole going through it.

We both yell in celebration, sharing a quick high five and laughing with each other


End file.
